When Chocolate Is Not Enough...

‘Fresh organic raspberry coulis and vanilla extract.’ She nodded. ‘But tell me now if you want some, because all my boobs are selling out fast ahead of the stag and hen party season. June is such a wonderful month to get married, don’t you think?’

A visual flash of memory hit Max hard. Sparkling champagne, kilts and plaid, and Scottish dancing in the tiny frigid village hall chosen by Kate’s parents for their wedding. Their June wedding had turned out to be cold, wet and windy, but he had not felt it for a moment. They had both been so young and idealistic, with crazy dreams of their new life in St Lucia.

Shame that the hard reality of that life had burst their bubble only too quickly.

A bustle of ladies looking for unique party treats jostled him gently, and as he turned to acknowledge their apologies he realised that the brunette was still waiting for him to give her an answer.

‘Hello? Are you still with me?’ she asked with a smile. ‘You seemed to be in a world of your own for a moment there.’

‘You reminded me about my own wedding. And you were quite right. June can be a great month to get married.’ He swallowed down a moment of angst, then looked up at her with a twisted grin and a wink. ‘Thank you for that.’

‘All part of the service. And … er …’ she gestured with her head towards the tray of chocolate shapes ‘… how many would you like? A pair is usual, three is a bit kinky, and four would be greedy. But, hey, go for it.’

He looked up at her—and then really looked. She had stepped into the sunshine, and now he could see that her hair was not brown but a deep russet-red colour, and just long enough to flick out at the neck of her heart-shaped face. A pair of wide green eyes smiled back at him, and under his gaze her mouth lifted to create a triangle of creases from her small chin to her rosy cheeks. Somehow he felt able to put aside that lingering sense of failure and regret at the breakdown of his marriage and enjoy the moment.

‘I’m sure your—your boobs are very nice,’ Max stuttered, creating a titter from the other customers. ‘I mean the chocolate boobs, of course. But I only enjoy organic dark chocolate. The darker the better.’

Her face dropped, and he instantly felt guilty about wasting her time when he truly did not want to buy anything. ‘Although there is something you might be able to help me with.’

‘Really?’ she asked, her eyebrows high. ‘I find that hard to believe, considering that not even my special boobs can tempt you.’

When she smiled one side of her mouth lifted higher than the other, and he noticed that the end of her fair-skinned nose was peeling a little, with a scattering of freckles.

Red hair, green eyes and freckles.

Oh, no. Killer.

His heart started beating just a little faster—but enough for him to look away and pretend to glance over the banners on the stall. He was obviously a lot more tired than he’d thought he was if a young woman’s smile could turn on the switches he had firmly locked into the closed position.

No more girlfriends. He had already sacrificed one marriage to his obsession with growing cocoa and had no intention of going there again.

He quickly coughed, to cover up his embarrassment, before answering her question. ‘Do you have something for a children’s birthday party? My daughter will be eight next week.’

‘Ah, a family man,’ she replied in a softer voice, and her shoulders relaxed. ‘Why didn’t you say so? We sold out of most of our children’s treats earlier this morning, but let me just check to see if we have any animal shapes left.’ She dived back into the plastic boxes, probably not aware that her chef’s trousers stretched a little too tightly over a very pert rear end as she bent over.

‘Teddy bears or bunny rabbits?’ she replied in a singsong voice as she rummaged. ‘White or milk chocolate? Oh—and a few very special dark chocolate-dipped raisins. Except we call them rabbit droppings. Kids love that.’ She grinned. ‘I would recommend the rabbits.’

Pulling out a flat tray, she stepped towards Max and he peered inside. Beautifully formed milk chocolate bite-size rabbits with pink-tinted white chocolate ears stared back at him.

‘Those look terrific,’ he said. ‘I’ll take them all—and a bag of the raisins. Do you mind if I try one? Denise …?’

‘Be my guest—and it’s Daisy, not Denise,’ she answered, and presented him with a small tray of the chocolate raisins. ‘Tara and I love catering for children’s parties. They are so much fun.’ Daisy winked. ‘It would make a wonderful birthday present. That little girl will be the envy of all of her friends.’

Max was just about to open his mouth to tell her that he owned a cocoa plantation in St Lucia, so Freya’s friends already thought that she had a mountain of chocolate bars stashed in her bedroom cupboard, when Daisy picked up a dark chocolate-covered raisin and without hesitating or asking for permission popped it into his mouth.

Her fingers slid against his lips, and for a fraction of a second Max felt a real connection which was so elemental and raw that he covered up his discomfort by focusing on the food.

Organic chocolate. It had a lot to answer for. But it had been so long …

‘What do you think?’ she asked, completely unaware that she was responsible for the hot discomfort inside his chest. ‘For adult parties I soak the fruit in alcohol, to offset the sweetness, but this rabbit poo is apple juice flavour. It seems to work.’

Max chewed the raisin for a few seconds, then swallowed. ‘Wow!’ He blinked and tried to hide a grimace. ‘I have to admit I’m more used to bitter chocolate, so that amount of sugar comes as a shock. And I’m trying to persuade my daughter not to eat so many sweet foods, so you will excuse me if I only take a few of the raisins.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t want to be responsible for a troop of eight-year-olds high on sugar and additives.’

There was a hiss from Tara as she whizzed past with an empty tray.

‘Whoops. Dangerous ground. You just said the A word. Be prepared to duck.’

Max turned back to Daisy, who was breathing rather heavily, her head on one side, eyes narrowed. Her voice had a definite frosty tone to it when she replied. ‘First of all, the only additives I use in my chocolate are organic fruits and sugars. And secondly all raisins are sweet. That’s their job. And children adore them. I tried using plain chocolate on its own and they were left on the plate every time.’

‘That’s a pity,’ he replied, and lifted up another covered raisin and held it under his nose. ‘I can’t even smell subtle flavours in the chocolate. Perhaps you could try a less bitter cocoa bean? That way you could cut down on the sugar but still have the cocoa flavour. A single estate variety would work really well.’

The brunette’s mouth dropped open for a second, before she lifted her chin and crossed her arms.

‘Oh, really? Do go on,’ Daisy replied in a faux-sweet voice. ‘I’m quite fascinated to hear how I can improve the recipe for a chocolate coating I have just spent the last six months working on. I can hardly wait to hear what other little gems of advice you might have for me.’

Max cleared his throat. He had said the wrong thing again—but he liked a challenge. Time to throw the ball back and see how high it bounced. ‘I’m just saying that it might not be the best choice for coating dried fruit. And this is a fine-quality organic chocolate, isn’t it?’

Daisy did not have to answer, because at that moment Tara laughed out loud as she served a young man in a slick business suit with four of the boobs Max had just been sniffing. ‘It certainly is,’ she said. ‘And it costs me an absolute fortune every week. But Daisy insists that our Belgian chocolate has to be the best. Your money won’t be wasted.’ Tara pointed at Daisy with her tongs. ‘And you, young lady, have an appointment somewhere else. Go—scoot. I’ll take care of your gentleman friend here. And thanks again for helping me out.’

Daisy glanced at her watch and gasped. ‘If that’s the real time, I am toast.’ She popped an extra raisin into the tray of rabbits and pushed it towards Max. ‘I hope that your daughter has a lovely birthday party. Even with all of that sweet mystery chocolate which is sure to rot her teeth. Bye.’ And with one swift movement she untied her apron, waved to him with the hand that was not occupied in swooping up her bag, and was out through the back of the stall before Max could reply.

He had barely regained his senses when he looked around to find the blonde standing in front of him, with her tongs raised in one gloved hand like a surgeon preparing to operate.

‘Hello again. My name’s Tara. What other tantalising treats can I tempt you with today?’

Max sauntered down the sunlit London pavement, swinging his Tara’s Treats carrier bag in one hand and his luggage over one shoulder. He was going to be late for his lunch date with Kate, but it had been worth it to meet the lovely Daisy and Tara.

Things had certainly changed in the artisan chocolate world if those two ladies were typical examples. Most of the chocolatiers he knew were professional older men, running chains of chocolate shops, or buyers from large-scale manufacturers of famous brands of chocolate being sold around the world in their millions. Not a moulded bosom in sight. More was the pity. But those girls had the right idea. Chocolate was a pleasure to be enjoyed—it should be fun! He was going to enjoy sharing these rabbits with Kate and Freya.

Max caught his reflection in the plate glass window of a designer clothing shop and winced. He ran a rough hand across his chin. Not his best look. He had barely slept these last few days, bringing in the cocoa harvest and collapsing into bed out of physical exhaustion only when it became too dark to work safely.

Perhaps he should have taken the time to wash and shave at the airport after his red eye flight before catching the tube into London? Kate might forgive him for not having the kind of haircut and dress sense of her new boyfriend, who was a big City banker, but she would mind if he turned up at a smart art gallery and restaurant looking scruffy and dishevelled. He owed her a lot more than that. Especially when she had specifically asked him if they could talk over lunch before he picked their daughter up from school.

A broad grin flashed across Max’s face, wiping away his feelings of anxiety and concern.

He might have been an idiot in some ways, but he had done something amazing when he’d married Kate and they’d brought a ray of sunshine like Freya Treveleyn into the world. Almost eight years old, bright as a button, and so very, very precious. Some mornings, when it was lashing down with tropical rain, the cocoa beans were going rotten and he was struggling to pay his workers’ wages, just the sight of that little girl’s photograph on his bedside table was enough to get him back to work.

Freya was why he fought and fought to make his organic cocoa plantation a success. She was his inspiration, his motivation, and the reason he stuck it out. Even if it meant that he had to leave her with her mother in London for most of the year.

A cluster of tourists blocked his way and Max dodged onto the road for a few seconds, watching out for the madcap cyclists, London buses and black cabs as he did so.

He had never been comfortable in this fabulous city, with its never-ending stream of action and life, the noise and bustle of people and traffic. His home was the Caribbean forest plantation house where he had grown up. The only real noise pollution there came from the flocks of wild brightly coloured parrots which descended on the treetops to squawk at the workers when they disturbed their calm life. Now he tried to block out the cacophony of noise from the traffic and the crush of people which seemed to deafen him, and was grateful when he spotted the entrance to the central London art gallery.

Minutes later Max hoisted his bag higher onto his shoulder and looked around the crowded restaurant until he spotted the woman he had once called his wife, perched on the edge of a dining chair at the best table in the restaurant.